That's One Way to Escape Marriage
by toothpickqueen
Summary: AU where Doctor Watson hasn't gotten her degree yet, and her mother insists on shipping her off to debutante dates. Sherlock Holmes is in want of an assistant he can trust and one who will keep Mycroft off his back about his bachelorhood. Girl!Watson.
1. Jane's Debut

**A/N: **So this is just a little experiment on my part. I had played with the idea of a girl Watson to the famous Sherlock Holmes in the fall of last year, before I officially watched the BBC Sherlock. I wrote this little drabble (chapters one and two), stopped at a good point, and then promptly forgot about it the next day. Months later, I'm finally getting around to checking it out. So, tell me what you think. Worth pursuing?

I also have no idea what I'm talking about half the time. It's supposed to be set in late 1800s in Londonish area, a genderbent John AU of the modern (since that's what I know). If it isn't immediately apparent, I know relatively nothing about the setting I'm writing in. It's an experiment, remember? Feel free to shoot me a note or whatnot informing me if there's a glaring mistake in my descriptions or whatever. I can definitely use the help. With that said, enjoy the story!

* * *

The morning of September 26th dawned bright and clear, the brisk wind the only hint of autumn. The leaves were just beginning to change, but the social seasons remained ritually the same. It was the time of year again for balls and social gatherings to arise at all manners of the day. Now it was reasonable enough temperature outside to justify wearing many layers of formal dress to impress.

Jane Watson was having none of it.

"Mother. Why are you even wasting your time?" Jane asked, to no avail. Her mother continued to lay out the contents of Jane's wardrobe on her daughter's bed.

"What about this one? The pink brings out the color in your cheeks," Mrs. Watson commented, holding up a dusky rose dress with numerous ruffles.

"What color?" Jane scoffed. "Aren't you the one constantly complaining about the amount of time I spend reading instead of powdering my face?"

"Indeed," Mrs. Watson replied, her lips pursed. "Ooh, here's that gorgeous blue one that matches your eyes," she held the slimmer gown up to Jane. Out of all the dresses, this one was Jane's favorite by far, but this didn't mean she wanted to dress up like a porcelain doll and parade around town in it.

"Mother, just stop," Jane finally said, taking the dress from her mother's hands. "I'm not going anyways."

"Oh yes you are, Jane Elizabeth. This is your last year before you can declare spinster status and I'll be damned if you aren't fabulously dressed," Jane's mother informed her daughter.

Something in her words spurred Jane's retort: "Oh really? And what could you possibly use as incentive for me to comply?"

Jane's mother smiled wickedly. "Your books."

"Ha. How do you plan on keeping me from them? Or the public library, for that measure?" Jane snorted.

"Easy. I had the lock on the house library changed this morning before you woke and ordered the librarian to inform me if you ever decide to sneak in. Not like you'll be leaving the house anyways, except for tea and formal events," her mother finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

Jane clenched and unclenched her fists, speechless with outrage. How dare she take away her books? Her books were her life, her sustenance. She couldn't face the day without the comforting whisper of their pages or the smell of ink on clean paper.

Finally, she found her voice. "I'll pick the locks. You know I will," Jane muttered. Her mother may think she held the upper hand, but Jane had a variety of tips and tricks up her sleeve.

"You will do no such thing. If I find evidence that you have done so, I will have your entire collection donated to the Curio shop. I'm sure they'd love that."

"You wouldn't dare," Jane's voice got dangerously low. The two women glared at each other, both battling for dominance.

"Oh my dear Jane, I would. Why can't you just settle for a nice man and follow in Amy's footsteps?" Mrs. Watson sighed in exasperation, flouncing down on the bed.

"Because I'm not Amy, mother!" Jane cried aloud. Sometimes Jane understood her mother's insistence on experiencing the debutante process. Amy had gotten pregnant so early on, there would've been scandal if her beau hadn't immediately proposed. And her mother had barely gotten to test the waters when she found Mr. Right. Perhaps this was her mother's chance to have the debutante experience she felt she'd earned and been rightly cheated of. When your first child is married and with two kids at twenty-four (and another on the way), your second daughter approaching spinsterhood at 23 is not fantastic news. But most of the time, Jane didn't feel a lick of regret for rebelling nearly all five years.

"Mother, you just don't understand. I love my books! I love writing and chess and philosophizing about the curious world. I want to learn and discover-make a difference. I can't do that as a housewife," Jane explained.

"What do you expect to do for a living instead? Write novels?" Jane's mother sniffed derisively at the last word.

"Father would've encouraged me to chase my dreams and overcome all obstacles. Women are already gaining power. For gods sake's, what about the Queen? She's no silly housewife!" Jane exclaimed.

"And you're not royalty miss. So stop acting like it. One of these days you're going to have to grow up, Jane. Grow up or lose everything," and with that, Jane's mother exited the room. She sounded deflated, the fight leaked out of her. Jane regretted mentioning her father in her outburst. Although what she said she believed, she knew it was a sore point with her mother. Ever since he died three years back, everything had become a struggle between Jane and her mother.

Jane knew her mother's argument held some truth in it though. She needed to find some way to financially support herself, otherwise even her own arguments made no logical sense. The money from her father's will and inheritance could only support the twosome for so long. She had to contribute to her family. She needed her books to help her though, and the only way to get those back was to attend a ball. Voluntarily.

* * *

That's how Jane ended up at the Kensington's manor three nights later. She was plucked, powdered, and compressed into one of those godawful corsets that made even sitting difficult. It wasn't easy to keep a permanent grimace off her face. This might be her only chance at getting her books back unharmed though, so she wasn't taking risks.

Jane knew without a doubt she was the oldest "debutante" there. The other girls were fresh and young, starry eyed with dreams of finding their perfect match promptly and ending up in a secure marriage. A few of the older girls had a hint of bitterness in their eyes-these were the ones who had been passed over for a younger, prettier fancy. Sometimes Jane conversed with their kind, but they were all the same: searching for a husband.

The funny part about it was, Jane didn't truly care about finding a husband any more than she cared about getting a dog. Actually, Jane did want a dog more than a husband. A dog would always be faithful to her and understand her plight against social norms. She'd yet to hear of a man who could pretend, if not actually show willingness to attempt the latter. Breathe a word of social revolution or rational thought and it sent suitors running in terror.

"Jane, dear, why don't you dance?" Mrs. Watson inquired, prodding her daughter in the arm.

"Oh but Mother, no one has signed my card," Jane feigned a semblance of surprise as she flashed her empty dance card at her mother. Mrs. Watson huffed in reply, giving up, and sauntered off to chat with her wealthy friends. Jane wasn't concerned about her lack of dancing partners at all. Most of the young men here tonight had already attempted to work their charm on her at past events or had heard stories from their mothers about how undomesticated she was. Jane didn't mind this, but without even any hope of verbal sparring or interaction, it was becoming a very dull evening.

"Who could this lovely flower sitting all alone possibly be?" A familiar voice caused Jane to turn around rather suddenly.

"Arthur!" Jane exclaimed, a smile brightening her features. The golden-haired fellow grinned, sweeping her into a hug. Jane returned the hug, glad to see her old friend once again. When Arthur set her back on her feet, she almost exploded with questions.

"How was India? Did you find any lost treasures? Did you meet the mysterious mountain monks? How about-" Jane spewed forth in queries. She hadn't seen her good friend in months; ever since he ventured off to India. He was the only person she could freely talk to without being judged, he was her confidant.

"Hey now, hold up!" Arthur interrupted her, stopping the flow of questions. "Jeez, I forgot how much you liked to talk," he teased. Jane swatted him on the arm, but knew he was joking. "Ow! When did you become a boxer too?" Arthur mock-complained, rubbing his arm.

Jane stuck her tongue out at him. They'd always acted closer than real siblings. "Tell me about India," Jane pleaded, making puppy dog eyes. Arthur chuckled and offered her his arm.

"Let's take a walk in the garden and I'll share all my grand stories with you," Arthur suggested. Jane agreed and they set off for the large glass doors that led outside.


	2. Bloody Welcome Then

**A/N**: Alright, so I guess I'm moving up the rating to M because there is swearing and blood. Apologies for not noting the range of the rating scale before. I was toying with the idea of making Jane younger, perhaps 19ish, bordering on 20, to fit in with the "oh, she's reaching spinsterhood" stereotype better. Thoughts?

Also, I may rewrite a portion of the first chapter to make sense with Arthur and Jane's friendship. Such as why Momma Watson wouldn't want to hook her up with that fine piece of man. ;) I have a possible theory...

* * *

Some time and long conversation later, Jane and Arthur sat on a stone bench near the edge of the Kensington's property, staring up at the starry sky. The party raged on a little ways away, the house still blazing with light. The faint strains of a waltz reached their ears.

"It's so peaceful out here," Jane commented. She breathed in the scent of dewy grass and listened to the muted sounds of the street beyond the hedge. Arthur murmured in agreement. Jane glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

Arthur looked content. He gazed up in wonder at the heavens, his posture relaxed and at ease. The time in India had been good for him, Jane mused. It had allowed him to explore, to discover. It renewed his excitement, the kind living in dreary London drained from many enthusiasts. Jane was afraid her friend would throw away all his potential by following society's plan for him.

"Arthur, I want you to promise me something," Jane commanded, looking at him head-on.

"Oh? And what, pray, would that be?" Arthur met her eyes. His twinkled with mischievousness and exuberance - the eyes of a young man who is truly alive, not caged.

"Promise you won't let them take away who you are. No matter what happens in the future, swear to me you won't ever stop wondering," Jane said seriously.

"Hey, what's wrong? Momma Watson threatening your future again?" Arthur straightened, trying to lighten the mood.

"Please, Arthur. Promise at least one of us will get to live our dreams," Jane ignored his questions.

"I promise," Arthur replied, all joking disappearing from his tone. "But it'll be tough. Father still dreams of me running his business in a few years. He's more lenient than your mother though. What happened?"

Jane sighed. "She changed the locks on the library and said I'd lose all my books if the lock was tampered with. She really wants me married and out of the house. I've almost reached the scandalous age of spinsterhood, you know," Jane told him.

"At 23? Please," Arthur rolled his eyes in the dim light from the street lamps.

"And God forbid I get an actual job," Jane muttered in frustration. "Why is she always against me at every turn?"

"You know she just wants the best for you," Arthur interjected quietly.

"You sound just like the lot of them!" Jane cried, sending an accusatory glare at him.

"Jane, listen to me," Arthur grabbed her hand. Jane frowned. She extremely disliked those people who said what she strived for - knowledge - was not a respectable goal for a woman. Why would Arthur side with them? Her mother wanted her bored and imprisoned to a husband, not happy. "I just think-"

Arthur's line of reasoning was cut off by a gunshot. The noise came from beyond the edge of the Kensington's property, in the street. Both Arthur and Jane froze for a moment. The sound of running footsteps in the sudden quiet caused Jane to start.

"Arthur, that sounded close," Jane half-whispered. She was off the bench and halfway to the garden gate before Arthur could stop her.

"Jane," Arthur warned, following his friend. Jane quietly unlocked the gate and crept out onto the gaslit cobblestones. "What if he's still out there?"

"He's not," Jane scoffed. "Whoever ran away wasn't hindered by any physical wounds. There may be someone _dying_ out there though. And my curiosity won't be sated until we at least look," Jane continued, completely exiting the Kensington estate. Arthur followed her silently as she neared the dark alleyway across the street.

"Damnit!" A man swore from the shadowy depths. Jane stepped further into the alley. Arthur grabbed her arm.

"You don't know if he's armed," Arthur whispered.

"He sounds like he's injured," Jane muttered. A few grunts and more curses spewed from the mysterious man.

"Come to finish me off, have you?" The voice returned, obviously catching sight of the two lurking at the alley mouth. It was gruffer now, the speaker in pain.

"I'm going in," Jane told Arthur, wrenching her arm out of his grip and disappearing out of the street light's glow. Arthur watched her in shock for a moment, then followed suit.

Jane's eyes adjusted relatively quickly to the twilight haze, but she almost tripped over the man a few steps in. She stumbled, only to find herself suddenly on the ground with a half-crouched man over her. A sharp blade lay cool against the skin of her neck. For two beats, they stared at each other, breath beginning to puff in the cool night air, sizing each other up.

"I dare say, you're not the fellow who shot me," the man exclaimed, surprise coloring his voice. He removed the knife and was rocking back on his heels when Arthur appeared.

"I should think not," Jane replied, pre-empting Arthur's certain stream of questions. "I heard the shot and came to investigate."

Even though the man's face was still obscured, Jane sensed he didn't expect a woman of all people, to come running to his aid. Her lips pressed into a firm line, she continued: "And I'm positive if you don't let me look at your leg right away, you will bleed out right here in this very alley. "

"Spot on, m'dear. I do believe he may have nicked an artery…" the man swayed from blood loss, collapsing heavily into the wall.

"Arthur, quick, ring a doctor," Jane ordered.

"And what, leave you here alone? Are you mad?" Arthur knelt next to the two.

"Arthur, he will die if you don't. I think his femoral artery damaged. Please, Arthur!" Jane pleaded. Arthur hesitated a moment, then ran off into the street. Jane focused back on the man.

"I am rightfully sorry about this sir, but I'm going to have to rip up your shirt," Jane mumbled. She reached under his jacket, grasping the edge of the man's shirttails. "Sorry."

A few strips of fabric later and Jane had a tourniquet around his leg about the wound and was putting pressure on it to halt the flow of blood.

"Stay with me, fella," Jane demanded, using her free hand to check the guy's pulse. It was sluggish, but definitely there. He could do little but sit there and stare at her, losing energy to do anything else.

"What's your name, I wonder?" Jane murmured. The man purposefully did not answer. Jane raised an eyebrow, but fell silent. The sound of running footsteps and horse shoes clanging on stone announced Arthur's return with the doctor.

"He's losing consciousness and possibly has a severed artery," Jane told the sprightly old man who jumped out of the carriage. The doctor immediately checked the man's pulse and how the tourniquet held up. "He's also lost a _lot_ of blood."

"About how long after he was shot did you get here?" The doctor asked, ordering Arthur to help him transport the man into the carriage.

"Not too long. A couple moments at most. He was still talking when we arrived," Jane responded, twisting her hands nervously. "Will he be alright?"

The doctor paused, looking at Jane curiously. "Yes ma'am. I do believe you got there just in time. Great tourniquet too," he replied and then took off, racing towards his house.

"Oh Arthur, I hope he's okay," Jane sighed. She looked at her hands, covered in blood. "Fantastic."


End file.
